Stealing Away
by braxis
Summary: Janna's powers awake on their own, Twisted Fate gains his through betrayal, and Graves eschews magic entirely. Can they escape the streets of Zaun? Do they even want to?
1. Run Like the Wind

Janna had selected the wrong mark. He had looked harmless, pissing on the wall of the alley alone. Slender with no visible weaponry, just a deck of cards and a fat purse. Easy-peasy. She watched him stumble as he exited the bar through the back entrance, drunken fool. Most tavern dwellers, even the men brought friends outside with them. Everyone knew the alleys of Zaun were full of thieves, addicts, and sentient animals, but this man had been alone. And Janna had taken the bait.

She had sidled up to him, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Please sir," she had said. "Let me be your luck." The streets of Zaun had held slim pickings for her, and the night was cold and hungry. And although the gambling houses did not approve of thieves, she would still prefer trying her luck pick pocketing in a tavern rather than turning tricks. Janna had survived the streets due to a combination of quick wits and quick feet. She knew what could happen to girls, orphans like her, who had turned to prostitution as a way to get by. There were men out there who liked to cause pain, and Janna preferred to have nothing to do with them. In the gambling house, in exchange for blowing on the cards she would get a seat by the fire, perhaps a meal, and as she slipped out the door she would take his purse.

The drunken gambler had turned towards her and brushed dark hair out of his eyes. For a moment she saw a cold intelligence inside of them, but the look quickly went away as his eyes slid out of focus. She knew he was assessing her for danger, but women hung around the tavern regularly looking for wealthy gentlemen to spoil them. Janna wasn't dressed opulently like them. She wasn't wearing velvet or brocade, and she didn't have the empty eyes of an alcoholic. Janna also lacked the skin staining and deformations of a shimmer addict, a condition that many of the city's poor and prostitutes had. Janna had recently stolen her outfit. Fitted grey leggings and a blue and grey tunic dress allowed her to move about the city nondescriptly. Her dirty blond hair was tied back in a tight braid, loose it attracted too much attention. But it was her inviting, harmless, baby blue eyes that would always trick the mark. Twisted Fate shrugged, grabbed her hand and laced his breeches with the other. And Janna followed him into the gambling den.

They never exchanged names, but as Janna blew on the cards, her mark always pulled a winning hand. She sipped at cider as he drank, squealing delightedly as he won emulating the other women. She begged the man to teach her the game, and blushed when he pulled her into an embrace. She blushed even more furiously when he pulled her onto his lap. All the while though, the detached part of her brain scanned the room for threats and exits. At the next table over she noticed a grizzled man staring at her. But his black eyes, although shrewd and capable, also did not broadcast ill intent. In fact, he sent her over a plate of chicken which she ate ravenously. She smiled at him, and he looked away, now focused on her companion.

The other men at the table were grumbling, and Janna knew it was time to go. When they called for all in, Janna used the ruckus to snatch for her mark's embroidered purse. She blew on the cards a final time, willing him to win so he'd be distracted when she slipped away. And as he lay down four aces, Janna made her move. Not swift enough, he caught her hand and demanded "my beauty, how do you control the cards with only a breath?"

And Janna replied, "It is only the luck I offered you."

"We will make a great team, you and I. I will show you the world." But Janna flinched away from his grandiose offer, and raced for the door. The other man watched with eyes full of mischief.

Twisted Fate shook off his drunken act, and gestured to several men loitering around the room. "After her."

Janna knew about her pursuers immediately as she clambered onto the streets. She could hear their heavy footsteps against the cobbles, and knew that they could also hear hers. She ran like the wind itself, not knowing where she was going, taking twists and turns by instinct. Janna knew of several hiding places within the inner city, where no one would find her if she could lose her tail, but she could not. Men were appearing out of side alleys and joining the chase. She considered dropping the purse, but they weren't out for money, they were after her blood. Her mark was directly behind her, and other, more burly men as well. Men with knives. Slow down! She thought, and a gust of wind whipped her hair out of its braid. She wasn't slowed, but her pursuers had to force their way through a headwind. Thinking she was free, Janna turned to dart down an alley, but found it blocked by another giant. And the chase continued.

She jumped over a green skinned shimmer addict, whose skin flashed yellow with surprise at her presence. There was a curse and a thud, as one of her less nimble pursuers tripped over him. Then she heard a sound she would never forget, the soft and sharp sound of a blade being plunged repeatedly into a man. But she had no time to mourn, she was still being followed. Or herded. Janna realized that there was no escape as she turned down a side path. It ended at a brick wall, the wall surrounding the wizard's college. There was crumbling gap that perhaps Janna could squeeze through, but in that time she would be a sitting duck. Plus, all the Zaunese knew that entering that courtyard as a mundane could be equally, but differently, dangerous. Mad men, who were not in control of their arcane powers were sent there. And rumor had it that the powerless were unable to enter.

Janna eyed the wall with unease, as six grown men approached her. Their shadows loomed over her and Janna closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. She thrust out her hands to stave them off in futile desperation, and something happened. The men were all knocked away, slammed against the walls of the alley where they slid into crumpled, concussed heaps. Tendrils of lightning reached for the unlucky few who had touched the walls of the wizards' college. Not enough to kill, but a nasty shock. Entirely drained, Janna slumped against the wall for a moment, unable to move any more than her attackers. But she was unharmed. Magic. She looked at her fingers in awe and confusion, and decided to chance it with the wizards.

Before she could think further, she was hoisting herself through the hole in the wall, kicking with her legs for better momentum. She scrabbled at the bricks, loosening dust and mortar, and snagging her tunic. Without even looking what lay before her, she propelled herself into the courtyard. Directly into a rain barrel. She landed in several inches of water and was promptly soaked to the skin, but she was safe. Poking her head out of the barrel, Janna noted the copse of pines that concealed her from the rest of the courtyard, explaining why the hole in the wall had never been patched. In the chill air, her wet hiding place quickly became uncomfortable, and Janna attempted to call upon the element of fire to heat and dry the barrel, but she had no control of that element. Instead, a small tornado scoured the barrel of its moisture, leaving it drafty but dry. Her weather sense wasn't warning her of rain, and adequately comfortable Janna relaxed a little in her new hiding place. Her pursuers would never have suspected her to enter the courtyard. They would have assumed she had exited the alley by slipping past them into the night.

But on the outside of the wall, Twisted Fate had caught a glimpse of one dirty foot sliding through the hole in the wall. He could feel the thrum of the magic in the wall, a threatening sound that repelled him. But the waif had made it inside, she was of the arcane. Twisted Fate longed for magical ability, and he vowed to repay the thief. He would take her tricks away, he would control her, and ultimately he would destroy her. Had Janna, tucked inside the barrel, heard his maniacal cackling she may have been disturbed, but its thick oak sides muffled his voice. Disappointed that she hadn't responded, Twisted Fate adjusted his dapper cap, straightened his cape, and strode into the night. He had many things to do.


	2. An Uneasy Friendship

Distraught at the condition of his threads after the pre dawn chase through the back streets of Zaun, Twisted Fate had changed before returning to the bar to split profits with his partner. Resplendent in scarlet velvet and draping plumage, he nearly glowed in the gloom of the bar. Of course, the man he was meeting wore the same dark homespun trousers and russet half-cape. A pistol lay on the table as a sign of good faith. It was a standard meeting between the pair.

"Where's your pretty companion, boy?" Graves asked as Twisted Fate slid into the booth across from him.

Twisted Fate scowled and called a barmaid for some ale. "The bitch took my purse and ran."

"I knew she was a thief! She was hungrier than the professional dice blowers." Graves laughed rustily. "Serves you right, anyway you didn't offer her a cut on your profits." He clapped Twisted Fate on the shoulder, with a meaty hand.

"How do you know that?"

"You never do. You're more predictable than a pickle in a pickle barrel."

Twisted Fate smirked at his accomplice's proletariat way of speaking. In addition to Grave's skill at banditry and duplicity, his mannerisms made him a foil to Twisted Fate's smooth charm. They were as friendly as two conman could be, having each other's back while simultaneously expecting to be backstabbed. Ever since they had simultaneously pulled hands of aces and led some bar thugs on a run through Zaun, the pair had been nearly inseparable. Keep your friends close. "She left me with a winning hand, at least." He acknowledged.

"How friendly." Graves remarked sardonically. His raised a glass of ale to his broad lips. "To uneasy friendship, and making new friends."

Twisted Fate sighed. "She would have been… profitable." The barmaid returned, and Twisted Fate grimaced and spat as he tasted his drink.

"And pretty." Graves whistled appreciatively as the barmaid bent to clean the spill. Her bosom was dangerously close to spilling out of her tight bodice. "Bring her back. Any gentleman would."

"I'm no gentleman." Twisted Fate slipped a bronze penny into the barmaid's cleavage. The girl was good enough to blush, although Twisted Fate knew that for a few pennies more, she wouldn't be pretending to be innocent any longer. "This girl seems to have ample luck."

"I can't argue with that." If the wisp of cheap lace covering her tits was any thinner, Graves would have an eyeful. He had had this girl before, she was a minx. "But she didn't do much for me." The girl huffed and tottered away on ill fitting heels, bosom and rear swaying enticingly as she walked. "Bring that blond around. We share, remember?"

"The little theif got through the wall at the wizard's college. I couldn't follow her."

Graves cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"The wizards' walls repel all the mundane, with force if need be. The wizards protect their own. And also she knocked my best men unconscious with some sort of directed wind gust."

"Well buckshot works darn near as well as a magic trick. But your luck at the cards borders on the arcane, or so I reckon." Graves snorted.

"You jest." Said Twisted Fate.

"Boy, I ain't foolin'." Graves replied. "But, I have other haunts to haunt tonight. These boots want to walk about" He rose and swirled his half length reddish cape dramatically.

"I guess I'm paying for drinks." Twisted Fate drew some coins out of his still packed purse, and dropping them on the table next to his barely touched ale.

Graves smiled cordially. "Give your blue whore a kiss from me."

Evelynn worked in a strip joint in the area. Twisted Fate had fallen in love at first sight. Unlike the glimmer users, her azure skin was natural and permanent, and very much on display. He had fallen in love with the leather clad studded exotic dancer. And she was exotic. How she had arrived in Zaun was speculated by her devoted, love struck following. Some said she was a Noxian assassin, trained by the Black Rose herself. Others said she had been exiled from Demacia for being perverse. A few claimed she'd deserted the Shadow Isles, having learned the ways of pain and misery alone. It didn't matter to Twisted Fate. After weeks of showering her with devotion, Evelynn had agreed to go dancing with him, to put aside her leather and wear a dress. He was wearing his most flamboyant crimson hat to impress her, and Graves knew it.

Their handshake was terse, and afterward, Twisted Fate opened his palm and found a piece of well worn parchment nestled inside. 'Dr. Xavier Rath: the Magical M.D.'. And a corresponding address in the city's heart were scrawled roughly across it in Grave's unsteady hand. Evelynn would have to wait a while longer, Twisted Fate had to make a stop first.


	3. Cleansed

Curled inside the barrel, Janna stirred uneasily in the hours before dawn. The sky above Zaun was darker than normal, and her weather sense indicated that the clouds above were heavy with rain. Rain in Zaun could be noxious, as the many unregulated factories belched toxins in the sky. Occasionally, rain that developed over Zaun had carcinogenic or mutagenic effects, warping any passerby. But tendrils of wind roused Janna slightly to reassure her stirring mind. "Sleep." They impressed. They showed her images of gentle rain over the harbors, of salty mist, and dove grey sky. This rain would be safe. Another wind swept down from the pine needles reminding her that she was under cover. A few winds wrapped her in a shield that would protect her from the elements, and Janna settled back into a sound sleep.

However, the winds hadn't accounted for the rain barrel's location directly under a downspout. They didn't understand that light rain in the air would accumulate on a surface, and channel into a narrow brass tube, carrying enough force to break through their shields. And so, a splash of water abruptly jolted Janna out of her sleep. Immediately, Janna tensed, not recognizing her assailant as pure happenstance. But, she was only momentarily disoriented; Janna's survival had long been dependant on quick assessment and reaction. As the downspout deposited a second pulse of water onto her head, Janna realized she would have to leave her hiding place temporarily.

Bedraggled and soggy, Janna bore a distinct resemblance to a drowned rat as she hoisted herself out of the barrel. Her blond hair hung limply and tangled around her face. And as she looked down, she could barely suppress a cry of revulsion at her state. Her stolen tunic had been torn in last night's chase to the extent that it was no longer recognizable as clothing. In fact it was barely fit for rags. Her leggings were covered with grime, slime, muck, blood, and some slick brilliant green residue whose chemical composition she couldn't begin to guess. She was shocked that the caustic looking substance hadn't burned her legs. Janna felt claustrophobic just looking at them, and immediately peeled them off. Surprisingly, her underwear had remained intact. She shrugged off the shreds of her tunic, and stood mostly naked in the rain.

Without being called, the wind caressed her, bringing the moisture in to clean Janna's entire body. It scoured her head to toe, pulling each strand of her golden hair away from her face, untangling each from its neighbors. It wiped the tears away before Janna realized she was crying, from fear, pain, or gratitude she would never know. The wind cleansed her of her exhaustion, and from the hurts she had maintained. It pulled rain away from the parts of her back with abrasions from where the crumbling brick had scraped at her, and directed it to her aching shoulders. As a friendly gesture, the wind lifted her full breasts, providing them with momentary support while they cleaned the sweat and dust from her torso. The wind swept down her legs, and spent extra time scouring her ankles where there was the largest concentration of caked on mud. The wind urged her to lift each of her feet to be washed thoroughly and tenderly.

"You are ours." It said. "You are safe. You are beautiful."

As she stood in the lush grass, Janna felt the indescribable power around her. The rain beaded in her hair, and formed dewdrops on the ground. But it wasn't the water giving Janna these gifts, it was the wind squeezing the moisture out to please her. Now the wind was pushing the rain on, and allowing Janna to dry off. Quick breezes left her feeling utterly refreshed, and somehow free. Her hair, now dry moved lightly of its own accord in the swirling breeze as each breeze vied for attention. Some breezes focused on her eyes, bringing her images of distant places. One showed her the many shades of green from the Kumungu Jungle. Another provided her a view of never seen ice sculptures in the Freljord. Several winds attempted to press snippets of conversation into her ears. A slightly emboldened wind brought cool air around her breasts, causing her nipples to harden against the stimulation. An even bolder wind ran between her legs, drying her underwear and touching her most private places, causing her to gasp slightly.

But it was not images, or sounds, or tactile sensations brought on the wind that caused her to dive unceremoniously back into her barrel (which had been courteously moved a few feet away from the downspout to prevent further drenching from runoff). Instead, it was the actual sight of a pair of wizards emerging from the keep. The first wizard was a young man dressed in the white robes of an apprentice, with a fresh tattoo bleeding freely on his shoulder, a fire in his soul, and a large tome tucked under one arm. "Magic should be learned organically!" He shouted. "The restrictions are unbearable here."

The second was an old man, the headmaster of sorts, dressed in a black brocade robe denoting mastery. Specializing in no form of magic, but understanding all of them, the old man looked on the boy with pity in his eyes. "Ryze. Using thorn magic to bind raw power to your body is illegal in all of Runeterra, even in Zaun. You will be more restricted elsewhere."

"I cannot abide by the rules set down by cowards and weaklings." The young man roared.

The old mage did not bristle at the insult, he only sighed. "Zaun's magicians college is renowned for our willingness to stretch limitations and allow experimentation. You are free to go at any time, but I personally will be sorry. You have great potential Ryze."

"I will not condescend to study here a moment longer." Janna stared through a crack in the barrel as Ryze tore his white robe off revealing a bare chest covered in further tattoos and turned on his heel back into the building. The doors to the courtyard slammed behind him.

The old man waited a minute, and a middle aged man in heavily embellished grey robes denoting wealth and status joined him. Neither mentioned Ryze's departure. Instead, the headmaster looked on the other wizard with favor. "Your experiment has been approved by the advisory board, Dr. Rath. Congratulations, have you found a test subject?"

"Not yet." The newcomer shrugged. "A capricious gentleman called on my home last night, but I was out. We're meeting later this afternoon."

"How do you know he's the subject you need?"

"My wife spoke with this finely feathered man. He wants magic to get revenge on a thief, the best kind of motivation. And she claimed he was a gambling man." Inside the barrel, Janna froze. Twisted Fate was coming to breach her sanctuary.


	4. In the Cards

A faint rumbling in the sky caused Graves' heart to stop a beat, caused him to stop walking and to look about. "Storm's a brewin'" he muttered to himself, "better hightail my ass outta here." And he pulled his cape a bit tighter around his shoulders and staggered onward, with a bit more speed. In the hours after talking to Twisted Fate, he had nearly emptied his purse, and filled it, and emptied it again. He had swilled countless mugs of ale, and tossed back shots with his companions. He had laughed as he won, he had despaired as he lost, and he had nearly gotten in a fist fight over some nameless wench. Now, before the dawn broke, he was stumbling to his last and favorite haunt, Tschabi's Tavern. An eye on the sky said that he could make it if he moved quickly. It was only a few blocks away, but he wanted to beat the weather, no use taking chances. Normally, Graves was the type to throw caution to the wind, but he personally had seen a Zaunese storm melt the flesh from a man's body. It had singed a hole in his boot, now that he thought about it. Perhaps it was high time to invest his winnings into one of those broad brimmed hats that Twisted Fate had taken a fancy to. There had to be some that lacked the frippery, the plumes and the spangles.

Aside from the thunder, the only sound on the twisted cobbled roads was the dull thud of Graves' holey boots, yet Graves still kept a hand on his pistol. The butterfly girls and the casual drunks had long since retired, anyone he encountered would be seeing to serious business. And he was as well. Tschabi's Tavern was a place that only serious, and occasionally shady, gamblers frequented. Unlike other locales, this bar offered none of the pleasantries. There were no drunken minstrels warbling or harping, no flittering females sent by the house to distract the gamblers. What the tavern specialized in was low lighting, tolerable whisky, and decent cigars if you knew what to ask for. There was no house dealer, but the bartender kept some stained cards and worn dice with barely discernible pips behind the bar. He would lend them out if you asked nicely enough, and greased his palm with a few silver bits. It was the place for serious high stakes gambling. Cheating was welcomed and encouraged, but only if you were clever. Graves was clever. Born in a Bilgewater tavern, he had cut his teeth on an old die. More than anywhere else in Zaun, he felt home at Tschabi's.

Graves ignored the front entrance, deciding against walking under the sign that a gust of wind had altered to read Tschabi Tavern. Instead he entered through the kitchen, right as raindrops started to splatter around him. Any other bar, and Graves would have been irked. But here he would not have to sleep on a rough wooden plank floor or worse, a booth seat covered in questionable stains. Instead, he rented the attic. The attic used to be home to several rooms, but as time passed and the tavern became shabbier, leaks in the roof had made most of them unlivable. Graves' room only had a small leak, and he caught the water in a bucket. Most of the metal had corroded.

Upon entering, Graves tramped up the stairs to deposit some of his winnings in the strongbox and to hang up his cape. When he returned to the kitchen, the night cook had set out a lonely plate of steamed peas, a stale biscuit, and a dried out chicken leg. Next to it was a full, albeit grungy tumbler of fine bourbon. "Eat quickly, the long table is hot tonight." The grim faced, nearly skeletal man was a terrible cook, but Graves tucked in, he hadn't died yet. Early on, Graves had learned that by sharing a portion of his winnings with the staff (the cook, the night cook, the guard, and the three bartenders) he would get tips on where to play as well as occasionally meals and reduced price lodging. His triumph was their triumph. Graves ate rapidly, but nursed his bourbon.

Clutching his glass to his chest, Graves sauntered into the main room of the bar. He touched the wall and pantomimed drunken unsteadiness. He let his eyes blur to appear like a simpleton, rather than a card shark. Graves exaggerated his footsteps as he swaggered to the long table in the center of the room. Swinging his head wildly he noticed a bookie in the corner taking bets, and a few tables of blue collar gamblers playing for pennies. Graves would rather play the ponies than ride them, but he wasn't good at either. But the cook was right, the long table was the table of the night. Seven men sat around the table, playing poker. Simple five card stud. Losing money didn't have to be fancy. Some of these men knew Graves, and they smiled uncomfortably into their drinks. Some didn't. Gold rolled across the table, as a young merchant lost his father's money, a haggard politician who was formerly an aristocrat lost his great grandfather's money, a handsome politician who was pulling himself up by the bootstraps lost the cities money. The winner was a man Graves would never forget.

Aergor Priggs was the only man at the table who greeted Graves with real warmth. A city councilman, Priggs had bested Graves at dice several months back. A different game, a different tavern, but the same soulless shark eyes were looking at Graves like he was easy pickings. Aergor Priggs would never know that Graves had intentionally thrown the game when a courtesan had desperately stared at him. "Please." She mouthed. "He'll hurt me." Her huge brown eyes oozed sincerity and fear. Graves had placed a conservative final bet, and with a flick of his wrist lost it. The girl had smiled and winked, and he had never seen her again. Tonight he would seek his revenge. There were no pretty girls around to prevent him from gaining a fortune.

"Pull up a chair." Priggs said, and clapped Graves across the back.

Graves toppled forward good naturedly. "How's the luck swinging?"

"Better now that you're here." Priggs shuffled the cards enticingly, but coldly. One of the men, a banker made his excuses to leave the table.

"Well how about that. Deal me in." Graves played a few hands, making small bets and losing them all. Another man, a gambler wise on Graves' tricks tapped his friend on the shoulder. They rose to get more drinks, but Graves could hear the front door closing behind them. Only Priggs, the two politicians, and the down on his luck merchant remained.

Graves dealt. He felt the familiar dents and bends on the cards. He'd shuffled each house deck a million times it seemed. He knew the stains, knew the creases. But he couldn't control the deal. Graves looked at his hand and bet two. Priggs, the poor politician, and the merchant each raised. The wealthy politician wanted to keep his wealth. Graves looked at the top card and made a gamble, he took only one. He noted with interest that Priggs also took one card. The public servant, folded. The merchant thought long and hard, and did as well.

"Shall we make it a night?" Priggs suggested. "Our friends are leaving."

Graves nodded. The pretense of being happily drunk was long over, and Graves was staring intently around the bar.

"All in." Priggs said. And he slid a small fortune of gold across the table. Graves slid his own winnings into the pot, but they barely made a difference. The bartender, bouncer, and the other patrons were all watching intensely as well.

Priggs lowered his cards first. Three kings, an ace, and a solitary seven of clubs. A good hand by all accounts.

Graves played the crowd more. He laid first a four, then another four, an ace, then another ace. The accumulated crowd took a simultaneous breath as he flipped another four. A full house. He pulled the gold off the table and into a black drawstring bag before anyone could accuse him of cheating.

"You knew the top card was an ace!" Priggs bellowed. His face turned from a drunken flush to the dull crimson of Graves' cape.

"You accusin' me boy? Thinkin' I stacked the deck. Jokes on you, I drew a four." Graves jingled the winnings bag gleefully, keeping his eyes on Priggs for a reaction. Without betraying a thing, Priggs was on his feet, knife in hand. Quick as a wink Graves ducked under the table as Priggs slashed at him with a knife. One hand his gunhilt, Graves rolled and darted into the kitchen before he could draw another attack. He clumped up the stairs loudly, drawing the deadbolt behind him. Through his narrow window, he could see Aergor Priggs being unceremoniously escorted out of the bar. Priggs was fortunate that the rain that was beating on his bare head wasn't noxious.


End file.
